Chapter 6 June

Wearing socks is a distant memory for us.The watch has been lying in the drawer for a long time, and I found that I can roughly estimate the time based on the position of the tree shadow in the courtyard.But as for today, I don't remember much, and it doesn't matter anyway.I feel like I'm about to become a law-abiding, garden vegetable with no desires or desires. The dedication of love and the gift of fine wine The local advertising industry presents a scene of prosperity.Any vehicle, as long as it stays near the market for more than five minutes, the local advertisers will stack various leaflets under the windshield wipers of your car.Every time we got back to the car, we were greeted with a barrage of news about a grand opening somewhere, an unmissable opportunity somewhere, another special at a restaurant, and a list of pornographic services in between.

One of them said that Cavaillon was about to hold an accordion competition.During the competition, striptease performances of sexy girls (twelve appearances) will be interspersed to please the guests.A supermarket has kicked off its Pork Week event with a buzz, declaring that every edible part of a pig will be auctioned off for unbelievably low prices.In addition, there are leaflets for petanque competitions, dance parties, bicycle races, dog shows, firecracker shows and musical instrument performances, as well as recruitment notices for disco dance halls to hire a special person to host the program.Mrs. Fanoli, who is said to be good at alchemy and clairvoyance, invites you to her puja, claiming that you will return with satisfaction.Miss Eve describes herself as delicious and waiting for your romantic date; while Miss Ruth declares that she can satisfy all your fantasies by phone. Strictly prohibited by the authorities.

One day we came upon a most unusual leaflet, filled with despair and urgency, demanding not our money but our blood.The smudged leaflets told the story of a young boy.He is preparing to go to the United States for a major operation, but before being admitted to the hospital, he needs continuous blood transfusions to keep his young life.The leaflet reads prominently: A lot of blood is urgently needed.The blood donation center will be set up at the village hall of Gordes at 8:00 am the next day. When we arrived at 8:30 the next morning, the village hall was already full.A dozen beds lined the walls, filled with people.Judging by the feet hanging from the bed, local people of all walks of life were out. Shopkeepers in oversized sandals, young ladies in high heels, farmers in canvas booties, and their wives in slippers. .The older woman grasped the vegetable basket tightly with one hand, while the other hand opened and opened to compress the blood to flow into the plastic bag next to it.While transfusing blood, everyone was arguing fiercely about whose blood was the thickest, darkest, and most nutritious.

According to the rules, we waited in line for the blood test.Ahead of us in line was a dumpy red-nosed old man in a battered cap and overalls, watching with interest as the nurse wrestled futilely with the crust on his thumb. Shall I find a pig butcher?he asked.The nurse gritted her teeth and struggled to raise the needle in her hand again.Oh shit!With the old man's scream, a bulging drop of blood appeared. The nurse quickly introduced the test tube, added some liquid, and shook it vigorously up and down.After a while, she looked down from the test tube with a look of disdain. How did you get here?she asked the old man.

The old man put down the thumb he was sucking in his mouth, and replied: "Riding a bicycle."Riding all the way from Les Anberts.The nurse snorted and said: It's strange that you didn't stumble on the road. She looked back at the test tube: You are drunk, you know? Impossible, said the old man: maybe a little wine for breakfast made my nose a little red.I've been used to it for a long time, so it's nothing.Besides, he shook his bloody thumb in front of her: adding a little alcohol would make the blood cells denser. Apparently, the nurse didn't buy him.She asked the old man to have another drink, coffee this time, and come back before noon if she could recover.He muttered in his mouth and staggered away.The injured thumb was raised in front of him, like a battle flag waving in the wind.

We had our fingers pricked, proved sane, and were led to our beds.Blood vessels are connected to blood bags, and we are programmed to clench and loosen our fists.The hall was filled with the sound of talking and laughing. Strangers who usually passed each other on the street and did not know each other suddenly became good friends due to the influence of dedication.Perhaps, this also has something to do with the bar at the end of the hall. In the UK, the reward for donating a large bag of blood is a cup of tea and a biscuit.But here, as soon as the needles are removed, we are led to a long table with volunteers.What do you want?coffee?chocolate?Croissants?Brioche?Ham sandwich?Garlic sausage?Or wine?eat more!drink more!Good to replenish those lost blood!Fill up your stomach!The young male nurse was busy uncorking wine bottles, while the chief physician in a white robe wished us a good appetite.Judging by the empty wine bottles growing taller behind the bar, the blood donation drive has been a medical and social success.

Many days later, the postman delivered a copy of the official blood donation magazine "Blood Cell", saying that hundreds of kilograms of blood had been donated in Geshi Village that morning.But there is another figure that I am interested in, how many kilograms of wine I drank that day, and there is no mention in the magazine.Perhaps it was reserved for internal reference in the medical community. social etiquette confusion One of our friends in the London bar circle has retained a deep British conservative temperament.Sitting in Cavaillon's end-of-the-century café, he watches out the window for what he calls the frog-like antics of people.It was a market day, and the sidewalk was crowded with people pushing and jostling, and there was chaos.

Look over there, a car stops suddenly in the middle of the road, and the driver gets out to hug an old acquaintance on the road.They always hurt each other.Do you see it?Man kisses man.How unhygienic.Lawyer friend snorting on beer.His strict sense of etiquette was outraged by this escapade.In the eyes of the venerable Anglo-Saxon race, such behavior is grotesque. Provence loves physical contact, and it took me months to get used to it.Like most people growing up in the UK, I learned a lot of social etiquette.I learned to keep my distance from people, nod instead of handshake when meeting friends, kiss women superficially, not show affection to dogs in public, etc.When I first arrived in Provence, I was really overwhelmed by the thorough search-style welcome ceremony like an airport security guard.Now, I'm not only enjoying it, but also interested in many details of this social etiquette.Body language is actually an element of interpersonal contact in Provence.

When two men meet, shaking hands is the minimum.Even if you hold something in your hand, you should spare a little finger to hold it.If the hands are a little wet or dirty, then the forearm or elbow should be used for this ritual.Being on a bicycle or driving a car does not excuse you from having physical contact with people.Therefore, you often see dangerous scenes on the crowded streets: pairs of hands stretch out from the car windows, groping for each other.This is just a preliminary, minimum action.If more familiar and intimate people meet, a stronger expression than this is required. As our lawyer friend saw, men would kiss each other.In addition, they also made a series of actions such as squeezing each other's shoulders, slapping each other's back, punching each other's lower abdomen, and squeezing each other's cheeks.Run into an old Provence friend you haven't seen in a long time, and you can definitely break up with a bruise all over your body.

The ladies are much less likely to be physically injured when they meet.But people unfamiliar with etiquette can make social blunders by not knowing the correct number of kisses.When I first learned the art, I always kissed a woman first.Step back and watch your partner meet the other cheek.I was later told that a hypocrite only kisses once, or else he is a poor eccentric person.After that, based on my personal observation, I concluded a set of correct procedures: three kisses, left︱right︱left.I tried this etiquette on the faces of my friends from Paris.wrong again.She said: Three kisses is the rude custom of the Provencal people, and two kisses are enough for civilized people.Next time I see the neighbor's wife, I kiss her twice.No, she said: It should be three strokes.

Now, whenever I see a lady, I pay close attention to her head movements.After two kisses, if the head stops bobbing, I'm done.And my head always keeps moving at all times, in case the other party turns his head away again, I can continue to kiss the third time. My wife is troubled by this.She is the one receiving the gift, and it is her responsibility to estimate the correct number of head turns, or whether they are necessary at all.One morning she heard a loud roar in the street, turned her head and saw Raymond the plasterer coming towards her.He stopped suddenly, and wiped his hands on the leg of his trousers exaggeratedly.My wife figured this must be a preparation for a handshake, so she held out her hand.As a result, Raymond pushed it away, but kissed her passionately on the face three times.Therefore, you can never guess what kind of courtesy the other party will give you. Once the meeting is over, the conversation can begin.Vegetable baskets, large and small bags, all have to be put down temporarily. If it is a dog, it is tied to the foot of the coffee table. If it is a bicycle and tools, they need to be stood against the nearest wall.This is very important, because a serious and pleasant conversation must use both hands to express the accuracy of language.Gestures can be used as commas, periods, exclamation points, or even simply to decorate words.For the Provençals cannot be satisfied if their speech is merely lip service.The hands joined in, exchanging opinions silently.Even the shoulders are expressive.You can know a little bit about the conversation content of the Provençal people from a distance based on their expressions and movements. There is also a silent language that begins with a wave of hands.This is something we learned from our home builders.They only use this language as a negative when talking about time or price.But the gesture's practical uses are infinitely wide, from describing your health to how well you're getting along with your mother-in-law, how your career is progressing, what you're saying about a restaurant, or how you feel about this year's melon harvest. Prediction.When discussing less important matters, the hands are just shaken casually, supplemented by a light eyebrow raising.When it comes to more serious matters like politics, someone's liver ailment, the odds of a local racer winning this year's Tour, the hand cranks up.The hands are swaying slowly, and the upper body is shaking slightly, and the serious expression is concentrated on the face. When warning or arguing, the tool used is the index finger, which can be used in three ways: pointing at the tip of the other party’s nose motionlessly means to remind the other party to be careful; shaking quickly under the other party’s face like a metronome is to remind the other party that what he just said is completely wrong; Then he would state the correct theory, and the index finger would change from shaking from side to side to thrusting forward.If the one who is not enlightened is a man, this finger will poke his chest muscle and beat there a few times; if the other party is unfortunately a woman, the fingertip will stop a few centimeters from the chest. When a conversation needs to end abruptly, two hands are needed to express it: one person's left hand fingers stretched out, and the other's falling right palm rises from the waist. This is a limited version of a traditional and extremely vulgar upper body movement.You can often see an unrestricted version of that in traffic jams on a hot summer day.Drivers arguing with each other will deliberately jump out of the narrow car, so that the body can exert the greatest freedom to complete the classic movement of slashing up with the left arm, and then being stopped by the upper arm suddenly held down by the right hand. At the end of the conversation, there is an action to show attention to keep in touch.The middle three fingers are curled into the palm, the palm is upright, and the thumb and little finger are raised to the ear as if making a telephone.Before saying goodbye, shake hands again.Then each of them packed up their own packages, dogs, bicycles, etc.After walking less than a hundred meters, I met another acquaintance, and everything had to start all over again.No wonder aerobic exercise is not popular in Provence, chat for ten minutes, the amount of exercise is enough. Neighborhood scenery We do not take much part in the recreational activities of the neighboring towns and villages.The things that come to our door every day are enough to let our spirit of adventure and exploration go, so that the famous sights of Provence are ignored. At least our friends in London think so.With an annoying attitude that scholars don’t go out and know the world’s affairs, they remind us from time to time how close our residence is to Nîmes, Ar and Yavii, to go to the wildlife sanctuary to see flamingos or to go to Marseille port to drink seafood What a convenience soup is.They all looked surprised and dismissive when we confessed that we had only been circling around the house.They never believed the reasons we said, such as no time to go elsewhere, no desire to visit places of interest, no intention to be tourists, etc.But there is one exception, and there is one place we never tire of visiting and that is Acres. We always take the mountain road to Aix.The winding mountain road is not suitable for trucks, and it is not suitable for people who need to hurry.Except for a lonely farmhouse with a herd of dirty goats, all you can see are steep cliffs, gray rocks and low oak bushes, which are particularly clear in the bright and unusual light. , the light and shadow are particularly distinct.Follow the mountain road on the south side of the Luberon Mountain to the foot of the mountain, and you can cross the French National Highway No. 7.This road is a battlefield for amateur Grand Prix drivers every day, and it is unknown how many drivers have been deprived of the right to drive for life.Thinking of this, we are always nervous while waiting for the car to cross the gap. Go to the end of the road leading to Aix, and you will arrive at Cours Mirbeau, the most beautiful street in France.The scenery here is beautiful in four seasons, but the spring and autumn are the best.At this time, the plane trees along the street will form a 500-meter-long green tunnel, and the sunlight will fall through the dense leaves, making the scorching sun in midsummer gentle and lovely.Four fountains are arranged in the central part of the entire avenue. The width of the road is just like Da Vinci's aesthetic theory, and the width of the road should be similar to the height of the houses on both sides.The space, the trees and the architecture are so perfectly matched that one almost forgets that there are cars on the road. Over the years, a sharp line developed between work and play in Akers.Banks, insurance companies, real estate agencies, and lawyers' offices are lined up on the swaying side of the tree shadows on the street, while the sunny side is where the cafes are located. I love every French café I've ever been to.Even the affection for a shabby little restaurant in a small village where there are more flies than customers.I especially love the cafes scattered along the Mirabeau Avenue, and the two boys (Deux Garcons) cafe is even more nostalgic.The owner of this small shop would rather hide all the money he earns under the mattress than spend even a penny to renovate the shop.And that's what keeps the little shop from being littered with plastic and odd light fixtures like some of its competitors.The interior looks as it did fifty years ago. The ceiling was high, and it had been faded to a hazel color by decades of smoke from thousands of sticks.The bar counter is polished bronze, and the tables and chairs look antique, and I don’t know how many hips and elbows they have endured.Waiters greet guests in impeccable aprons and flats.Here, the interior is dark and cool, suitable for sitting and thinking, and having a drink.In addition, there is a terrace in the store, and sometimes some wonderful shows are performed there. Aix is ​​a university town.The pretty girls apparently liked to hang out on the two boys' patio after school, where they were everywhere.I think they come here more for education than for fun.They must have been taking a course in cafe etiquette, which was roughly divided into four parts. Part 1: Arrival The more eye-catching the better.Preferably on the back seat of a brightly colored Kawasaki 750 motorcycle.Motorcyclists wear black leather suits from head to toe, and have beards that haven't been shaved for three days.Standing on the sidewalk to say goodbye after getting out of the car, watching him patter down the road to visit their barber.But this is a trick played by little girls from Auvergne.The deep female students in the city don't have time to play this trick, and their minds are focused on the next step. Part Two: Getting In Sunglasses cannot be removed until you recognize someone you know sitting in the hall.But you can't act like you're looking for someone.It has to be thought that you walked into the café just to call some noble Italian suitor and happened to see a friend there.The sunglasses can only be taken off at this time, and only after repeated persuasion from friends, she flicks her long hair with a shawl and sits down gracefully. Part Three: The Kissing Ceremony Kiss everyone in the room at least twice, usually three times, and in some special cases as many as four times.The person being kissed has to sit still so that the newcomer can bend over and peck one by one, while at the same time taking the opportunity to flick his impressive long hair, inadvertently blocking the way of the waiter, subtly letting them know There is one more guest here. Part Four: Table Manners Once seated, you should push your sunglasses up to the top of your head so you can take a closer look at your own reflection reflected in the window glass.It's not about narcissism, it's about checking your face for appropriateness, such as the way you light a cigarette, drink mint tea through a straw, or gracefully pick up a sugar cube.If these behaviors are in line with the rules, the glasses can be adjusted slightly down so that they slide down on the tip of the nose, which will make her look more playful and cute.At this time, the attention will be transferred to the other people present. This kind of course is repeated from about ten o'clock in the morning to seven or eight o'clock in the evening, and I will never get tired of watching it.I thought that there must be some time for them to do some academic work when they are actively engaged in social research.However, I never saw any textbooks on the coffee table, nor did I hear anyone talk about advanced calculus or political science and so on to darken the atmosphere of the whole coffee shop.The students focused on their appearance, and the entire Avenue Mirabeau was embellished with vitality. It will never be boring to spend most of the day visiting cafes one after another.But since we don't come to Aix very often, we try to squeeze in some time in the morning to pick up a bottle of schnapps from the rue d'Italia, buy some cheese from Monsieur Paul in the rue de Marseilles, and look in the windows of the boutiques If you find something in Neixin, go to the flower market to join in the fun, go to the beautiful fountain to meditate for a while, and then rush to the old Gu restaurant (Chez Gu) before noon, so as not to worry about no seats. Although there are many restaurants in Akers that are larger than Lao Gu's, with beautiful decoration and good taste, we have become his loyal customers since we entered Lao Gu's restaurant on a rainy day.Lao Gu greets the guests himself, he is kind, attentive and talkative, and the goatee on his mouth is the widest, thickest and most vigorous beard-like hair I have ever seen.It continued to move towards Lao Gu's eyebrows stubbornly and unyieldingly.Lao Gu's son was in charge of ordering, and in the kitchen, only a woman who might be Mrs. Lao Gu was directing everything in a loud voice.The guests were mainly local business people, girls from the Agnes School and savvy local women with their short-legged dogs on their toes with their overflowing shopping bags.Occasionally, some sneaky men and women, presumably engaged in some illegal activities, would appear, refusing to eat the delicacies on the table and whispering there.The wine is served in earthenware pots, and a sumptuous three-course meal costs only eighty francs, and all the seats must be fully occupied before half past twelve at noon. Every time we come here we want a quick and easy meal to kill.But after drinking the first can of wine, they often get carried away and reassure each other that it's a holiday and there is nothing special to rush back to, and there are no urgent business appointments waiting to go, so why not enjoy yourself.Knowing that all these people around us are going back to their respective jobs after dinner, we can have another cup of coffee and consider what to do next, which makes us secretly happy. There are still many beautiful places in Aix, but a full meal makes us lazy. If the cheese in our stomach experiences another afternoon of sweltering heat, I am afraid it will also revenge on our way home.How about looking at a vineyard outside the city that I've always wanted to visit.Otherwise, go to a place that intrigued us that we noticed when we entered the city, which is like a medieval dump, scattered with many huge antiquities and broken statues.There's bound to be antiques and stone garden benches we've always wanted, and maybe they're willing to pay us to remove them for scrap. Scrapyard full of babes Next to National Highway No. 7, there is a place called the scrap yard, which is as wide as a huge cemetery.In this country, which strives to prevent thieves and ranks first in sales of anti-theft equipment in Europe, it is unusually completely open to the outside world. There are no fences, no warning signs, no ferocious wolfhounds on the leash, and no signs identifying the owner's name.When we parked the car, we thought to ourselves, what kind of trust spirit is needed to do business without defense against the outside world.But soon we understood why the owner was so reassured that all the exhibits weighed more than five tons and required ten people plus a pair of hydraulic winches to move them.In addition, a heavy truck is needed to transport it away. If anyone wants to build a large courtyard imitating the Palace of Versailles, he can buy all the necessary items here in an afternoon.Want a bathtub hewn from a single block of marble?There's one over there in the corner, with thorns already growing in the piston bore.Need a staircase to the foyer?There are three towers with different lengths. The old stones are polished into elegant arcs, and each step is the size of a dining table; iron railings like giant snakes lie beside them, and some capitals are carved into pineapple shapes; ready-made The whole balcony, the cherubs on the cornices the size of fat adults, shouting as if they had mumps; The base, here is a dazzling array of stone tools, everything that one expects to find.The only thing is that there are no benches for the garden. Hello.A young man came out from behind a large statue and asked what we wanted.bench?He curled his index finger into a hook shape and placed it on the bridge of his nose, thinking about it, then shook his head apologetically.He has no benches here, but an exquisite eighteenth-century terrace carved out of boulders.If our garden is big enough, he also has a beautiful imitation Roman triumphal arch, ten meters high, where two ancient chariots can pass side by side.He said such things are rare.For a while, we can't help but be fascinated by the image of Faustain's straw hat wrapped around a garland of olive leaves, driving a tractor through the Arc de Triomphe to the vineyard every morning.It was my wife who calmed down first and told me that this 250-ton thing was not practical.We said goodbye to the lad apologetically, promising him that if we ever wanted to buy a castle, we would come to him. Ted and Susan from the UK Back home, the answering machine greeted us back with a blink of a small red eye, indicating that someone had spoken to it.There are three messages. First there was the voice of a Frenchman, whom I couldn't recognize.He spoke suspiciously to himself, as if he could not believe that he was talking to a machine.He was amused when we asked callers to leave a contact number on the answering machine.I'm already talking to you, why give you my phone number?He waited on the answering machine for an answer, his heavy breathing clearly audible.Who's on the phone?Why don't you answer?The heavy breathing continued.Hello?Hello?Oh shit.Hello?When the recording length set by the answering machine came to an end, his growl was cut off abruptly.We never heard from him again. Then came Didier's message, informing us briskly and clearly: he was going to lead other workers to resume work in my house, and then beat the two rooms downstairs.Under normal circumstances, they will definitely come tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Also, do we want to have a few more puppies?The bitch Penny had an affair in Good Village and became pregnant. Then there is the voice of an Englishman whom we remember meeting in London as a joking optimist and nothing else.That's about to change though, as he and his wife are coming to visit soon.He didn't say when he'd come, nor did he leave a phone number.Perhaps they were one of those wandering English travelers who would pop up one day at noon to join us for lunch.We have passed a month of quiet and inactive days. There are few visitors and no workers in the house. It is acceptable for someone to come to our house for a short stay. They arrived just before sunset, just as we were preparing dinner in the courtyard.They were Ted and Susan, apologetic and cheerful.Provence excites them, talking loudly about the place they're visiting for the first time, our house, the dog, ourselves, everything, and it's all very good in their eyes.Within minutes of meeting, they said it was great several times.Their joy makes people feel relaxed. They talk like they are performing cross-talk, and there is no gap between one partner and the other. We don't need or allow us to intervene at all. Did we come by bad luck?We're typical uninvited guests, right? Absolutely.You must hate such guests the most.It would be wonderful to have a drink. Honey, look at that swimming pool, how beautiful it is? Did you know that the little post office in the village of Mena has a little map showing the way to your house?They call your British family.Maps are kept under their counter. We should have been there a long time ago, except we knocked over a lovely old man in the village Well, it's actually his car Yes, it's his car, but he's very kind, dear, isn't he?And in fact, it didn't really hit it, just wiped it. So I invited him to a coffee shop and had a glass of wine. Had a lot of drinks, didn't you, dear? He also invited some funny friends of his. Anyway, here we are.I gotta say, it's pretty awesome here. It's really thanks to your generosity that we broke in like this. They stopped to take a sip of wine, gasp for breath, and walk around the yard, from time to time let out admiration from their nostrils.My wife, who is especially observant to see if other people are full, noticed that Ted's eyes lingered on our unfinished dinner.So she asked them if they would like to eat with us at the same table. As long as it doesn't cause trouble for you, it's fine.A piece of bread, a piece of cheese, and that's it.Maybe another glass of wine. Ted sat down with Susan and continued their conversation.We pulled out sausage, cheese, salad, and some veggie baked eggs, topped with fresh hot tomato sauce.They ate with such joy that I couldn't help but wonder how long ago they had their last meal, and when they planned to start their next meal. Where are you going to live here? Ted filled his glass.Uh, we haven't booked a hotel yet.We people are always like this, without a plan. Then, they said they wanted to find a small room, as long as it was clean, simple and not far from where we lived.For, if we could bear it, they looked forward to coming to see our house again the next day.There must be several small hotels we can recommend to them. There are several hotels like this, but now it is past ten o'clock, and it is almost time for the Provencals to go to bed.At this time, to knock on the closed windows and locked doors of others to wake up the hotel janitor dog is considered ignorant of current affairs.So we suggested that Ted and Susan had better spend the night at my house, and then go to find a hotel in the morning.They glanced at each other and began to express their gratitude, which lasted until their luggage was carried to the second-floor guest room.They said their last goodnight from the guest room window, but we heard them chirping and chirping in the room until we were getting ready for bed.They were like two excited children and we thought it would be fun to keep them for a few days. Just after three o'clock, we were woken up by dogs barking.It was the strange noise coming from the guest room that attracted their attention.It was a moaning sound combined with the flushing of the toilet, as if someone was very ill. I never knew what to do when someone else was sick.For my part, when I am ill, I prefer to lie still alone.I always remember that many years ago, an elder told me: Don't vomit in front of people, good boy.No one wants to know what you ate.But there are indeed some people in this world who like to have someone to accompany them when they are sick, to give them sympathy and comfort. The groans continued.I ran upstairs and asked if I needed help.Ted's sad face appeared at the door.It was Susan who broke her stomach.She has a sensitive stomach and is too tired from playing.There is no good way, but to wait for her own stomach to recuperate and clear up.Then Susan vomited loudly again.We had to go back to sleep. Didier came as promised, and just after seven o'clock, there was a loud sound of pouring sand and gravel outside the door.Workers banged with sledgehammers and nails.Didier's assistant tossed the sacks of cement into the mixer and set it in motion, which produced another sustained roar.Our patient Susan groped her way down the stairs, frowning in the noise and bright sunlight, but she insisted that she could have breakfast.It turned out she was wrong, and it didn't take long for her to leave the table in a hurry and rush to the bathroom.It was a beautiful morning with no wind, no clouds, and a clear blue sky.But we ran around looking for a doctor who was willing to make a visit, and went to the pharmacy to buy antipyretics. In the next four or five days, we gradually became acquainted with the pharmacist.Lucky Susan is still battling her stomach.The garlic made her bile secrete abnormally, and the special thick local milk made her large intestine roil.Olive oil, cream, water, wine, she is not used to it, and blisters will appear after being in the sun for twenty minutes.She is allergic to the South. This situation is not uncommon.According to the physique of the northerners, every time they are shocked by Provence, everything will make people feel blood rushing; the temperature can be as high as 37 degrees Celsius, and as low as minus 30 degrees Celsius; The roadbed was washed away, and the highway had to be closed; the northwest monsoon was the most brutal, bitterly cold in winter, and scorching hot in summer; the food was so strong that the stomach accustomed to a light diet could not bear it; the wine had a strong stamina , easy to drink, but high alcohol content, not as refined as the old cellar.The food and climate are very different from the UK and it takes a while to get used to.There is nothing gentle in Provence, and others can be as knocked down as Susan.Finally, she and Ted couldn't resist the blow, and set off for a milder environment to recuperate. Enjoy Provence It was only after this episode that we realized how lucky we were.We have the physique of a goat and the weather-resistant skin.The way we work and rest has also changed with the climate, and we spend most of our time outdoors.Thirty seconds is enough to get dressed in the morning, eat fresh figs and melons for breakfast, and do chores like cleaning as much as possible before the sun is hot.By about ten o'clock every day, the stone slabs around the swimming pool are already hot, and at the same time, the water in the pool is still so cold that people shiver when entering the water.Before we knew it, we also developed the good habit of taking a Mediterranean nap. Wearing socks is a distant memory for us.The watch has been lying in the drawer for a long time, and I found that I can roughly estimate the time based on the position of the tree shadow in the courtyard.But as for today, I don't remember much, and it doesn't matter anyway.I feel like I'm about to become a law-abiding, garden vegetable with no desires or desires.Casual contact with the real world is limited to talking on the phone with people in distant offices.They always ask enviously how the weather is, and my answer makes them unhappy.They consoled themselves by warning me that I would get skin cancer and that too much sun would dull my mind.I am not arguing with them, they may be right.It's just that, whether it's getting stupid, getting wrinkles, or getting cancer, I've never been happier than I am now. The workers put their clothes down to their waists as they worked, enjoying the summer weather just like us.Their biggest concession to the heat wave was a longer lunch break.我們的狗分秒不差地監控著，一聽到食籃打開，盤碟刀叉擺放的聲音，立即拼命地奔過庭院，占據餐桌邊的有利位置，這是從前只有我夫妻二人進餐時，牠們從來沒有的表現。牠們耐心守候著，帶著謙卑的表情，眼睛眨也不眨地注視著人們吃下的每一口。這一招百試不爽。午餐終了，牠們也便潛回花叢下的隱密處所，偷偷嚼著平時只有我們才吃得到的起司什麼的美食。狄第埃解釋說，那是不小心掉下桌的。 房屋改建工作據說是完全依照進度進行的也就是說，從工人們復工那天算起，到我們可以搬進去住為止，每個房間的整修需要三個月。如此計算的話，曼尼古希答應給我們裝的暖氣機，到了八月間怎麼說也該裝好了。若是在其他在天氣沒這麼好的地方，所有的等待都可能讓人氣悶煩躁。在這裡卻不會。陽光是極好的鎮靜劑，漫漫歲月幾乎是無知無覺中便歡樂地流逝了。生活是如此的美好，其他任何事物都無需牽掛。我們聽說，一直到十月底，大概都會是這樣的好天氣。我們還聽說，七月和八月間普羅旺斯人多嘈雜，許多聰明的本地人都躲避到相對安靜寬敞的地方，比如說，到巴黎去了。我們暫時還沒有這個打算。